


Out of Commission

by mosylu



Series: The Injured List [1]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: And I Think You Do, F/M, I mean as plotless as I can manage anyway, Lending a helping hand, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, if you know what i mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 02:52:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7081960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosylu/pseuds/mosylu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With two sprained wrists, Cisco's restricted from certain activities. Caitlin offers to help out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Commission

Caitlin studied the x-rays, scowling at the screen as she zoomed in and scrolled around the image. “Well,” she said. “I can’t see any evidence of fracture in the right wrist.”

“Yay,” Cisco said, shifting his arm slightly to re-settle the ice pack she’d given him. His wrist throbbed, and he winced.

“Or the left one.”

“Double yay.”

They’d gone out in the field tonight, all three of them, which was something they were all still getting used to. Tonight’s meta had been particularly aggressive, and Cisco had made the mistake of trying to grab him from behind. He’d gotten swatted like a bug for his trouble. He’d gone flying and tried to break his fall, jamming both wrists hard against the concrete.

He’d gotten back up and slammed the meta with a sonic boom, which he should have done in the first place. But it hadn’t done his wrists any favors and once the adrenaline had worn off, about all he could do was hug them against his chest and bite his lips against a stream of totally unmanly whimpers.

Caitlin snapped the machine off. “They’re probably just sprained. I’ll wrap them. Is the ice helping?”

“Uh-huh. The pills kicked in too.” The sharp jabs of pain were down to a dull throb, which was a nice change.

“Okay.” She took gauze from a drawer and wrapped one wrist, then the other, until they were both snugly bound and he couldn’t flex his wrists at all, which felt really nice actually.  "I’ll drive you home. You’ll need to keep these elevated and refrain from any repetitive or strenuous activity with your hands until at least tomorrow morning. I’ll pick you up and we’ll have another look then. In the meantime, ice them every three to four hours, no more than twenty minutes at a time. Take ibuprofen to help with the pain too. Do you have any?“

"Yes, mom, I have ibuprofen at home.” He held up his hands, feeling like he was playing robot. Beep, beep, boop. “Can I get these wet? Because I kinda really want to take a shower right now.” He generally showered at Star Labs after a fight in the field - among other reasons, so he could leave his Vibe suit here.

She pulled open a cabinet and took out two plastic air casts, the kind she put on Barry when he fractured something and had to keep it still for the half an hour or so it took to heal. “Put these over it.”

“Got it,” he said sadly. It was going to be like showering with two marshmallows on the ends of his arms. Basically he was going to be able to climb in the shower and sluice off and that was it. Not even shampoo. Forget conditioner.

Aw, man, getting out of his suit was going to be fuuuuun. Caitlin had already helped him peel the jacket off, leaving him in the sweat-damp black t-shirt he wore under it, but the pants were not exactly loose and he was going to scuff the boots to hell, toeing them off.

He sighed, thinking of all the things he was banned from doing until at least the morning because they required manual dexterity and wrist strength. Video games, noodling on the guitar he’d just picked up again, tinkering with his latest home project. He couldn’t even text because his voice-to-text program was for shit, honestly. Realistically, he was limited to watching TV, if he could manage to mash the remote buttons without hurting himself. Maybe he could change channels with his toes. These weird long Ramon monkey toes had to be good for something.

“By the way,” she said over her shoulder, “I would strongly discourage masturbating in the shower tonight.”

He almost fell off the hospital bed. “Um, yeah, that would fall under the heading of repetitive or strenuous activity, so that wasn’t - um - ”

“I realize it’s something of a post-fight routine for you, but really, you’re going to have to refrain this once.”

“I - wha - I don’t - Okay, I always clean up after myself. I’m not that much of a jerk.” He flushed. “So to speak. How did you - ”

She gave a weirdly dainty snort. “You’re almost always turned on when you go to take a shower, you’re not when you come back. It doesn’t take a genius.”

It wasn’t that the fighting itself revved his engine, exactly (although there was a pretty high percentage of hotness on both sides in a meta fight, and he wasn’t _blind_ , okay.) It was more that after the fight was done, all the leftover fizz under his skin tended to drain southward. He’d thought he was at least discreet about it, though. “How do you even know that?”

A wash of pink touched her cheeks. “Heat sense. Blood flow.”

“It’s that sensitive?” he squeaked, hunching over and pulling his legs up.

“I don’t exactly advertise it, but yes.”

He wanted to put his head in his hands, but it would hurt. “I’m so weirded out right now.”

“It’s a perfectly normal physiological reaction to adrenaline,” she said airily. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of and you’re certainly not the only one. You ever notice how quickly Barry whooshes home to Iris sometimes?”

He had, actually, with a mixture of puerile sniggering, squishy awwwing, and envy that Barry had someone waiting. “I’m not ashamed, I just really want this conversation to be over right now.” He started counting up all the times he’d had to, you know, take the situation in hand after a fight or a confrontation or hell, even a particularly lively training session and oh my god, he was going to go home and die now.

“Well, I just thought I’d mention it since you’re somehow still turned on with two sprained wrists, so you might feel like you could work around that.”

“Oh my gaaaaaaawwwwwwwwd,” he moaned, thinking that having a female doctor for a best friend and occasional super-hero-ing partner was not currently as awesome as he generally considered it to be. “Caitlin, please, if I promise to stick an ice pack down my pants, will you stop talking about this? Like, ever?”

“Well, as your doctor, I’d have to discourage that course of action.”

“Okay, fine, then I’ll lie here and think of dead puppies or something for awhile, as long as you promise you’ll never, ever say the words _blood flow_ in my earshot ever again if you’re not referring to blood that’s actually exiting an actual body - ”

“Or I could help you out,” she said.

He stopped short, staring at her. In a hushed voice, he said, “Do - you mean - in a Killer Frost sort of way?” 

She’d iced his wrists right after the fight, while Barry was whooshing around tying the meta up, by holding them loosely in her hands, drawing out the heat slowly and carefully with a concerned line between her brows.

It had been kind of sweet at that moment, but it wasn’t exactly the way he wanted her to treat his dick.

She opened a drawer and removed a bottle, then came and sat next to him on the edge of the bed. “No. I mean in a I’m-your-friend-and-I-have-a-functional-hand kind of way.”

He thought about asking why and how lube was classified as a medical supply, but said instead, “You wanna give me a hand job. As my friend and doctor.”

She shrugged, as if to say _so what, just your standard medical treatment, no big really._ But there was something shy in the way she averted her eyes and there was still a soft flush in her cheeks. “Or it’s the dead puppies. Your call.”

He stared at her some more. His hard-on, which had begun to wilt out of sheer horror, was back with a vengeance.

Because Caitlin was hot. He’d known it when they met, and he’d known it when she was engaged to Ronnie, and he’d known it after the explosion when they were dragging each other from day to day, hour to hour, minute to minute, and he’d known it when their world suddenly got weird after Barry woke up, and he’d known it when it suddenly got weirder when they got their own powers.

Not that it negated years of friendship and standing by each other. They were two separate things as far as he was concerned. But it was a matter of empirical fact - she was hot. And she wanted to put her soft hands on his throbbing dick and stroke him until he came all over her, and this wasn’t a dream because his wrists still hurt.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said. “On the friend obligation scale, this is like negative fourteen million.”

“I know that. I offered anyway.” She shifted. “I mean, if you have a problem with it, obviously we won’t.”

Probably he should have a problem with it. Or probably she should. But she was offering, and he could smell her hair, and her hip was warm against his, and his cock was trying to drill a hole through his pants, and what the hell was the harm, really? It wasn’t like he’d never had a friend give him a handjob before. It wasn’t like he’d never done the same in return. It was a friendly kind of thing to do.

He swallowed. “W-well. Since you’re offering and all. Seems kind of rude to turn it down if I can’t take care of it myself.”

She nodded a little and put her hand on his fly. He let out a shaky breath at the gentle pressure, and bit his lip when she undid his pants button and pulled the zipper down over the bulge of his erection.

He was wearing boxers today. Beyond a little quirk of her lips, she didn’t comment on the fact that they had Deady Bears on them. (So what? He could be into the classics. He had _depth_ , okay.) She slid her hand inside his underwear and ran her fingers up his length before wrapping her hand around his dick and pulling it out.

He started to get a little dizzy and realized he’d been holding his breath, and let it out with the faintest of moans. She looked up.

“Just, umm - That feels good.” His own voice felt like sandpaper in his throat. He wondered what she thought of his dick. Did she like it? Did she have any opinion of it at all, or was it just another body part to her?

“It won’t for long unless I use this,” she said practically, flicking the cap of the lube bottle open with her thumb.

“Oh, yeah, sure, right,” he babbled, and watched her squirt a little puddle of liquid into her palm, rubbing her hands together to warm it and spread it around.

“What do you like?” she asked softly.

Everything? Everything, just touch me again - “Your whole hand,” he managed.

“Tight? Loose?”

Look, this was high-level calculus for him right now - “Sort of middle, I guess?”

She nodded as if she’d been taking mental notes and put her hand on his dick again, one long slow stroke from root to tip. Oh, god, oh fuck, now her hand was slick along with being soft and cool and, just, he wasn’t ready for this, for how fucking _good_ it felt to have her doing this -

“Yes?” she asked, and he made some kind of noise that probably came across as _yes_. It felt like yes. Everything felt like yes.

He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. Normally he’d be playing with her hair or touching her breasts or holding her face to kiss her while she pumped his cock, but - fucking immobile robot hands, man.

He rested one on his thigh and sort of wrapped the other arm around her shoulders. She scooted closer, her head bowed, her teeth sinking into her soft lower lip in concentration. He put his forehead against her temple and breathed in, smelling her shampoo and the edge of sweat because she’d been fighting too, and the chemical-y smell of the lube, and the organic heavy smell of sex, and god, he was dizzy again.

“Can - faster?” he asked, words getting lost in his chest, tangled up with pants and moans.

She sped up her movements, and even the slick, slappy, fappy noises that made were mind-bendingly erotic. His hips rocked and little grunts escaped his mouth. She smiled to herself and paused - what? no! - and rubbed her thumb over the blunt, sensitive tip of his dick, smearing precum around, and it felt unbelievable.

“Fuuuuuuck,” he moaned, and her smile quirked wider before she went back to pumping his shaft. The knotting feeling at the base of his spine and the heaviness in his balls told him he was just about done, like he didn’t already know, like neurons weren’t shorting out with every stroke and he wasn’t gasping for breath -

“I’m - _unh_ \- close,” he managed, because he tried to be a gentleman about these things usually. She shifted and reached for something, and turned back just as his back arched and cum boiled up the length of his dick to spurt into the kleenex she held.

He rested his head on her shoulder, panting, his vision gradually clearing. She pressed her cheek to the top of his head. He watched dreamily while she cleaned him lightly, gently, and then wiped her fingers on the kleenex, wrapped it up in a little package, and set it on her knee.

“Okay?”

He nodded against her neck. So okay. Yep. Dictionary definition of okay, right here. Even his wrists weren’t quite so sore. Endorphins, maybe. “Um. You?”

She shrugged a little, like, _Yeah, sure. Just gave my best dude friend a handy at our workplace. Not a thing._

He lifted his head, and that was how he kissed her for the first time: panting and sweaty, with his hands all wrapped up in gauze, with his pants open and his dick softening, with her hands sticky with lube and cum, and a soggy kleenex sitting on her knee.

And she kissed him back.

“Hey,” he said softly, against her mouth. “Uh. I have pretty firm opinions about, like, quid pro quo, but I’d have to come up with some work-arounds because I tend to use my hands a lot and - ”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, which would have been kind of discouraging except she kissed him again. “You can return the favor when your wrists are better.”

She tucked his dick away and started to zip his pants, and he said, “Um, leave it, because I’ll just have to - downstairs - when I shower - ”

“Oh, yes,” she said, and left his fly open. She picked up the kleenex and slid off the bed, going to toss it in the trash can and wash her hands at the sink.

He sat watching her for a moment or two, wondering what exactly had just happened and whether it was going to happen again, or if she’d just consider the subject closed forever after he’d, you know, quid pro’d her quo.

He slid off the bed himself, tugging his t-shirt down over his gaping fly. Which was kind of dumb, because it wasn’t like she hadn’t already gotten an eyeful, and a handful, of anything that might peek out. But, whatever.

He remembered the air casts and went grab them from the counter. She looked over her shoulder. “Cisco?”

“Yeah?”

She’d gone pink again. It could be his favorite color on her. “Next time you come in horny after a fight, check in with me first. No sense in both of us playing with ourselves in the showers afterwards, not when we could be playing with each other instead.”

FINIS


End file.
